“Time may change me.  But I can't trace time.”
“Changes” by David Bowie.

Smallest Things
By: Lu-Man!

Jeff stumbled in through the door.  The wolfs heavy frame was still heaving.  “Run three miles my fat ass.”  He grumbled.  It was so much easier in high school.  In fact, he used to run 5 miles a day.  He would run 10k's just for fun.  But that was then.  When the wolf was on the track team.  When he was the star of the school.  Before college.  Before her.

He stepped into the living room and sat down on the sofa.  “What....made me....think....I would...make it that....far...” he huffed as he caught his breath.  The old couch creaked just a little as he sat back. After a few minutes his breathing slowed from great big gulps of air to more normal panting.  His heart finally stopped racing and began to slow down to a reasonable gallop. “This whole health improvement thing is going to kill me.”

Jeff knew that at 350 pounds, his weight was a bit excessive.  Heck, his massive weight gain had caused him too much trouble to begin with.  “You love eating too much!” Cindy used to say.  The black fur on her wolf muzzle would wrinkle in disgust.  “You got to slow down.”  Cindy hadn't known then.  She couldn't know.  The food was one of the only things that made him feel good.  Especially when she would insult him.  When she would hurt him, or ignore him, the food was always there.  Lets be honest, no cake no where ever told him “slow down, fat ass!”  No brownie had ever told him it didn't love him anymore.

His weight gain had started in college.  The freshman fifteen quickly became the freshman forty-five.  However, it didn't matter to her.  Not then.  She loved spending time with him.  However she used to give him subtle hints.  Even then.  “Honey we just ate.”  “Honey, slow down, save the ice cream for later.”  Insults and persecution didn't come.  Not at first.  That was saved for later as friend after friend would stop visiting.  Stop returning phone calls.  Food was just an acquaintance then.  It wasn't quite his only friend yet.

Jeff finally stood up.  These thoughts running through his head hadn't quite left.   Everything was spinning around.  Cindy.  His food.  His only true friend now.  He stepped over to the toilet to take a piss when he clicked on the light.  The cheap fluorescent bulb sprung into life washing the entire blue tiled room in pale, industrial, soft white light.  It drained the color from everything.  When Jeff was finished he stepped over to the sink.  He stared at the mirror.  In one corner was written “Born: July 18”.  It was dated thirty years ago.  His date of birth.  He looked at the left corner.  “Dead: July 18”.  The date was five years from now.  How long the doctor gave him to live.

Jeff could still remember the doctors words.  “The smallest things can make huge changes.”  He said.  “Can mean the world.  Smallest things.  Easiest things in the world to do.  Or you can start coffin shopping soon.”

Jeff heard those words in his head last night when he went to sleep.  This morning when he got up and attempted to 'run.'  More 'walk' than 'run' actually.  He could still see the sneers of everyone on the track.  He imagined everyone laughing at him.  One toddler actually did.  Pointed even.  “Mommy, fat wolf run funny” the kid giggled as he shuffled by, too tired at that point to say anything back.

Jeff was remembering the look on the kids face, what he said when he looked down.  Some how he had found himself standing at the fridge.  In his hand was a large chocolate muffin.  One of six from the box he had bought at the store on his way home from the doctors visit yesterday.

Jeff sighed in defeat still looking down at the delicious muffin.  Just one wouldn't hurt right?  “Smallest things can make huge changes.”  Jeff said allowed.  “you guys are not that big.  But you've made a huge change in me.”  Jeff sighed.  Cindy was in part right.  He had in part replaced her.  He was in love with food.  “Guys,” he said with a heavy sigh.  “I think its time we see other people.”

Jeff's breakfast that morning hadn't included six muffins.  It did not include half the sheet cake that was sitting next to it.  It hadn't included any of the large box of the sugary frosted cereal.  Instead, he had a sensible breakfast of two eggs, three slices of bacon, two pieces of toast, and half a grape fruit.  The rest of those that was mentioned: the muffins, the cake, the cereal, found its way into the garbage instead of into Jeff.

“Smallest things.”  Jeff said.  “Maybe one day I can erase that date.”